


times are gone for honest men

by TheFamousFireLadyM



Series: Black Hole Sun [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Horror, Hate Sex, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Multiple Penetration, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slime, Spoilers, Tentacles, that me kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFamousFireLadyM/pseuds/TheFamousFireLadyM
Summary: One far distant Parlay, Merle lets his guard down.Minor Spoilers





	times are gone for honest men

 

 

John is covetous. That’s what he does, he covets until he gets what he wants, and then he covets some more, until he moves on, and so on and so forth. Thus is the nature of the Hunger. 

* * *

 

 

It was one of the forgettable cycles. Merle wasn't expecting to get any information out of this particular Parlay, and he knew this, considers this, as he materializes in front of John.

Before Merle could even get one word out this Parlay, one single question, a hello or anything, John has him by the shoulders. He pulls him in, mouths crashing together like waves onto the shore. Something unnatural, violent, and yet, meant to happen. Merle takes hold of his lapels in one tight fist, gathering John to him out of sheer reflex.

John’s mouth is soft, much more soft than he would have imagined. Not that he often imagined smooching something akin to a human black hole, but even so, the thought still crossed his mind once or twice every parlay. He can’t help but grasp at the side of the man’s face, feeling his smooth cheek under his own rough fingers. Merle didn’t think John needed to shave ever, and that much was clear from touching him. Merle lets out a sound caught between a gasp of pain and something else when John’s fingers tighten on his jaw, digging in hard enough he knows there’d be bruising. It was John that pulls back first, bright pink tongue dabbing the center of his bottom lip. The action is distracting enough that Merle didn’t even notice the edge of the table digging into his spine, or the way John had not released his face. 

“You are an interesting person, Merle Highchurch.” He announces after some time, and Merle reaches behind himself to grab at the table just in case. Just in case  _ what _ ? Even he didn’t know. 

“Yeah, well, that’s what people tell me.” Merle says, looking at him sideways, noticing just how he looks with the perpetual sunset looming over them both behind him, his face thrown into shadow, red streaming through the windows, painting stripes across them both through the blinds.

“Perhaps some of those people are a part of me now.” His words are low, a purred threat, and Merle fights to stifle the chill that runs through him. He’s sure John can feel it, long fingers still gripping his face hard enough to hurt. His fingers flex as if he knows Merle is thinking about his touch, brutal in its own way, and his nails press into the tender skin of Merle’s face, through the beard. 

Another choked sound makes its way from Merle’s slackened mouth; whether from fear or arousal or maybe a mix of both is anyone’s guess. 

“I believe you are into this.” John leans in, easily, as if unhindered by the laws of physics. He gestures with his free hand to the ache between Merle’s thighs, the heat gathering in his belly, the obvious tenting of his tight trousers. Merle shifts where he stands, legs parting wider for an instant. John takes that opportunity to wedge his thigh between the dwarf’s legs. His mouth opens in a groan that seems dredged up from his very core, and John’s mouth is twisted in a vicious snarl, pressing Merle up against the table. 

“Oh, you’re one sneaky son of a bitch,” Merle grinds out through gritted teeth. 

“I'm not anyone’s son.” 

“It's a figure of speech.” Merle replies, hauling his ass up onto the table as quick as he can. “Thought those were something you’d understand.” 

“Figures of speech or not,” John works his hips between Merle’s splayed legs, fingers spread on the table on either side of his thighs, “I would much prefer to let you see what I'm going to do. Your anticipation is…  _ delicious.  _ It might even lead you to consider my aims.”

Merle’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, dragging along the bruised flesh, as he looked John up and down. He was leaning in again, pressed up close to his bare chest, and the sensation of being so close was disquieting. John wasn't hot the way a normal person was. It was like the absence of heat that deep space seemed to contain, a dark cold that felt as if it were leeching Merle’s own body heat from his very essence. His chest was heaving, and John regards him coolly, before sweeping a hand across Merle’s bare abdomen. He stops short at the base of his stomach. 

His movements seem curious, fingertips colder than ice threading through the coarse hair that trailed down past the waistband of his trousers. 

“Are you afraid of what I can do to you?”

“I think we’re a little past that part now.” He lets out a nervous laugh, and John regards him with a dark look before popping the button of his trousers. Merle shifts and bites back a gasp as John wraps a cold hand around his heated erection. Giving him a few lazy pumps in his fist, John watches his hips give a sudden jerk toward his touch. “Careful. Wouldn't want me to think you were eager to join with me.” He's teasing him, voice low and sensuous in his ear.

“No, of course not.” Merle answers, mouth falling slack. “If that’s what you’re trying for, I’m gonna have to be the one to stop you there.” 

“I want you inside me.” 

“Okay.” Merle breathes, “Moving a little fast, here. Gimme a second. Do you mean that literally or…” 

A loose chuckle escapes John as he languidly flexes, and it reverberates around the room. “If you give up and let me take you, we’d lose this good thing we have going. And I know you don't want  _ that _ .” His hand brushes Merle’s side. “But after..” 

At that the dwarf grabs him by the waist, pressing sloppy distracting kisses to his jaw as he switches places with him, knocking John onto his ass on the edge of the table and taking his place on the chair that was scooted just under the lip of the table.  “Like Hell that’ll happen.” 

“Now that’s showing control.” John drawls, vitriol dripping from his every word. His fingers trawl like spiders, up Merle’s bare chest as he draws him in closer, arms up around his bare back to hold him in. John laces his fingers behind Merle’s head, and he gives the dwarf a lascivious look before tipping his mouth to Merle’s, taking his time and swiping his tongue along the inside of the dwarf’s mouth, savoring and tasting him. Merle noted John didn't taste like anything but the empty vacuum of space, cold and empty. Still though, it makes Merle shiver as he releases him, lathing a long sweet lick along Merle’s lips. 

He works John's trousers down, letting them drop past his narrow waist and gathering in a messy bunch somewhere around his knees.

Merle lets out a groan at the attention as he lines up his erection, and sinks into John’s ass, slow and easy. He was slick inside, hot and tight, dripping black slime down the back of his thighs, as Merle rides out the sensation of the way John clenches around him, playing him like a fiddle as Merle bottoms out inside him, skin to skin, hips angled up into him. The ichor begins to pool in his trousers where they are gathered in the crook of his knees. 

“How did you…?” Merle can't help but let out a low sound, short nails scraping at the flawless wooden table. 

“Mm, you think I don't have any control of this…  _ scenario?” _ He rocks toward Merle, heels of his impeccable dress shoes urging Merle in closer. The dwarf’s mouth hangs open as John looks up at him, elbows caught up against the table, legs spread wide where they hang off the edge of the table. 

“Try not to knock me down,” Merle presses his hands to the tabletop on either side of him, balancing on the chair as John draws him in closer, hooking around his ass. 

“No promises.” He breaths, body arching. Merle reaches out, out of curiosity more than anything else, and tears John’s shirt open. His chest is ordinary at first glance, flesh pale, freckled, but beneath the surface standing out like veins, there streaks black lines pulsing his life's blood. John shivers at the warm touch, his flesh drawing heat from Merle, warming up to body temperature. His hips buck toward John, and he lets out a shout of surprise. He falls silent, not understanding how this contact could draw such mortal, such  _ human  _ reactions out of him. Merle watches his expression twist and realizes maybe John is too human after all. This spurs him onward, eager to drag more reactions and emotion out of him, knowing how John couldn't understand it. He clutches at the sides of the table as Merle picks up speed, grabbing hold of his thighs to keep balance. 

Black tendrils start coiling around his ankles, lovingly, tenderly, and where they meet his skin it burned. It burns the way cold air would, like being windblown by ice. Merle let out a breath that warms the bared flesh of John’s throat, skin flushed all the way down his chest. John had tossed his head back, throwing the line of his throat, each ropy muscle, into sharp relief. His shirt fell open on either side of him, body trembling with each movement as Merle rolled his hips. 

“Oh, I need more. I need all of you.” He tears his perfect suit to pieces with an impossible strength, leaving himself bare, revealing where the inky tendrils burst from his skin without injury, sprouting from each black vein, many of them just reaching for Merle.

“That's gonna be a little hard to do,” Merle replies, deadpan, as the tendrils curl higher, up past his legs, leaving behind a burning sensation from where they left his skin. They sink into John with no resistance, sounding slick as their thickness work their way inside. Merle takes hold of the edge of the table, the tight friction driving him closer to the brink, one that threatens to overtake him the way the Hunger loomed over all life. 

Another pair of tendrils burst from his flesh without warning, and one wrap around his straining erection, dripping black ichor that pools in the hollow of his belly. The other twists and coils, caressing Merle’s face. It traces the outline of his lips, leaving an inky residue behind. 

The tendrils ease John onto his side and then his stomach, and he bows his head over the table. Merle takes hold of his thighs, working into him harder. He's shaking, but he can't tell whether it's because he's close or because John is just  _ so cold _ . 

If he could see John, he would see the man on his elbows, bent over the table, as his face twisted into something pained, his breath coming hard. The loss of control was killing him, and Merle takes that opportunity to run a hand down his spine, following the veins of black that spread through his skin. That touch alone sends John tumbling over the edge, pressing close to the table, ass in the air as brackish black liquid spatters his stomach and the tabletop. 

He's panting, clawing at the table, trying to right himself as Merle finishes, leaning over him as he pulls out with some difficulty, lingering there nearly on top of him. Moments later, John still hasn't moved as Merle backs off. He's trembling, lying on the table top. As if emotion had overwhelmed him, and he can't seem to get a good solid grip on the legion that makes him up, bits and pieces of him flashing like static, his harsh breathing sounded mechanical as if through a vocoder, as if it were thousand of voices in one.

Merle can't exactly leave just yet, so he takes a seat beside John, leaning on the table beside his face. John, finally pulling himself together, sits up. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair, as if only mildly inconvenienced by the way he had just fallen apart, mildly inconvenienced by the stickiness and the ache and the burning of the tendrils as he fell apart around Merle. He turns and spreads his legs again, facing Merle, giving him a good glimpse of his body, covered in swiftly drying gray slime, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the table on either side of Merle. The dwarf drags one hand absently up his too smooth thigh, distracted by his nudity, and stops, looking up at him. 

“Perhaps next time I see you, you'll be willing to join me. Closer than we've gotten this time.” John murmurs, voice tender. His knuckles brush Merle’s cheekbone, and the dwarf tilts his head to the side, leaning into his touch, his gaze like steel as it follows John’s hand.

“Doubt it.” Merle answers, deliberately, taking hold of his wrist and wrenching his hand away. John frowns and it's the first sign of anger he'd seen this go around. He lets John cup his face in his hands and kiss him. 

This time around John’s mouth tastes like the memory of a long lost plane, and Merle presses in close, savoring his warmth, tongue seeking out every little bit of him that would make him gasp and moan.

He doesn't notice John's fingers close around his chin until it's too late, and with a muffled pop, Merle goes limp, head twisted all the way around, and John just lets him drop.


End file.
